I preface this by saying I have a weird metabolism that clears through anaesthesia crazy fast (I heal quickly too; my spouse has accused me many times of being other than human).
So when I got my wisdom teeth out, my darling warned them not to leave me unattended while in recovery. โShe will not take as long as you think to come out of it,โ he said. โShe will not stay put.โ
The medical staff dismissed this as implausible. When my surgery was done, they shuffled me into recovery, ensured I was stable, and left me alone to sleep it off.
I did not take as long as they thought to come out of it. I did not stay put. A startled and slightly horrified nurse intercepted me staggering towards what I was apparently convinced was the exit, but was in fact (I am told) the gentโs.
They bundled me out to the car with embarrassing haste, probably eager to let me be someone elseโs problem, and my best beloved took me home, aided by our friend Mathilda, who had volunteered to help wrangle.
They got me home and I immediately passed out on the sofa for round two of my drug nap. They ran out very quickly to the pharmacy to fill my prescriptions, figuring theyโd be back before I woke up again (I have also been accused, again by my spouse, of being likely to sleep through the apocalypse).
Soโฆ Backstory: we, as a group of friends, had been trying for a while to beat the last level of a video game, and nobody had managed it yet.
When m'darling and Mathilda got back, I was no longer on the sofa. The TV was on, displaying the screen where I had victoriously finished the game. The whiteboard in the hall had been wiped clean of any trace of grocery list or memos, and instead had a huge, smug SUCK IT, BITCHES written on it in multiple colors, and I was unconscious and snoring, facedown in the hallway, halfway through the bedroom door.
This was over ten years ago. I have yet to live it down.
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